


I Need You More Than Ever

by heauregard



Series: Full Length Fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (?), (sort of), Abuse, Abusive Dean, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Cheating, Cheating Dean Winchester, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sad Castiel, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Verbal Abuse, angst with a semi-happy ending, basically its super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-11-15 21:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heauregard/pseuds/heauregard
Summary: "At some point you have to realize that some people can stay in your heart, but not in your life,"-Sandi Lynn





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story romanticizes sexual, verbal, and physical abuse. I don't condone any of this or support it in any way, I can't explain why I like to write/read about it so much but that doesn't make it okay.
> 
> Abuse hotline for anyone who thinks they might need it: 1-800-799-7233

The bed creaked in time with Dean’s brutal thrusts. Panting, Castiel looked up at the man’s face with tear filled blue eyes. Dean looked right back down at Castiel, his emerald eyes clouded dark. Castiel tried to close his eyes - tried to picture Dean taking his body slowly and lovingly, the way he used to, the way he usually does during an apology- but a strong hand gripped his jaw and tore him from the thought.

“Open your eyes,” Dean spat to the smaller boy beneath him, the venom in his voice bringing him back to the present. “Wanna watch you come on my cock like the bitch you are.”

Castiel opened his eyes carefully, Dean’s hand locked on his jaw. He didn’t know why this time. He hadn’t done anything to warrant this as far as he knew. Dean grunted as he slammed his hips against Castiel’s, his free hand fisted in the sheets beside Castiel’s head. He finally let go of Castiel’s jaw only to grip the hair right above his hairline, yanking until he was satisfied with a whimper from the other.

Castiel wanted to close his eyes again and pretend Dean still loved him.

The mattress squeaked beneath them and Castiel was taken back to when he had told Dean they should buy a new one. That was better than focusing on the man above him.

In no time, Dean was groaning and slowing the movement of his hips to a slight grind, eyes still burning down into Castiel’s. He released the dark hair and reeled his hand back, then down quickly, stopping just before it came in contact with Castiel’s cheek. Castiel flinched and whimpered, bracing himself for the strike that never came. He peeked an eye open, muscles tense.

“Better hurry up and come, or I’ll just let you give yourself blue balls for the night,” Dean said.

Castiel nodded slightly and gripped the sheets, thankful for Dean’s kindness as he let Castiel grind his hips down on his cock at his own pace. Castiel whimpered and made sure to keep his eyes on Dean’s as he worked himself hard for his own release, moved his hips at such an angle that the head of Dean’s cock was pressing relentlessly at his prostate. After a short while, he came with a soft whine onto his stomach. Dean made sure he didn’t miss the way Castiel’s back arched off of the bed as he orgasmed. That was something beautiful and still untouchable by Dean. Once Castiel had finished coming all over himself, Dean grabbed the other's hips tightly and pulled out, watching his cum leak from Castiel’s poorly stretched hole.

He dropped Castiel back down onto the mattress unceremoniously and laid on his back on the other side of the bed. Castiel swallowed thickly and pulled the blanket up to cover his naked, bruise ridden body. Silence laid over them like a blanket for a short while before the bed creaked as Dean moved to cover his waist. Castiel pulled the blanket higher over his chest, biting his lip when the action caught Dean’s attention.

“Dunno why you’re hiding when all you’ve got goin’ for you is your body,” he sighed and closed his eyes, adjusting himself in the bed, “course I guess it ain’t too pretty now, all purple and yellow like that.”

Castiel shuddered and closed his eyes. He wished Dean would stop talking.

“What’s wrong? Did I strike a nerve, princess?” he taunted, chuckling.

When Castiel didn’t answer, he felt Dean’s large hand close around his arm and yank his body across the bed. Castiel didn’t wait for Dean to ask again.

“N-no, I’m...I’m f-fine,” he lied, lip trembling as he looked up at Dean.

Dean’s blank expression didn’t change even as his thumb came to trace over the fading purple underneath Castiel’s eye, wiping away a tear Castiel hadn’t realized had fallen. Dean didn’t let the gentle motion linger, wiping his thumb on the bed sheet to dry it and letting go of Castiel with a light shove.

“Go clean yourself. Don’t need my cum leaking out of you and staining the bedsheets.”

Castiel nodded slightly and stood up, scratching at his forearm as he walked to the bathroom just down the hall from their bedroom.

Their apartment wasn’t big, but Castiel hadn’t minded when they first moved into it together. He thought it was cozy, and he liked the idea that they’d always be close when they were in it. Now though, he despised it. Whenever he stepped through the front door, he was reminded that he’d have to try extremely hard just to stay out of Dean’s metaphorical - and sometimes literal - path of destruction. Whenever he stepped into the bedroom, it reminded him of all the times Dean had violated him rather than made love to him in it. Whenever he stepped into the small kitchen connected to the living room, he was reminded of the time Dean had gotten so angry with him that he’d grabbed the back of Castiel’s head and slammed it down on the counter.

He traced the light scar on his forehead, just below his hairline, and shuddered.

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. He closed the bathroom door softly and sniffled as he sat on the toilet, determined to sit there until he couldn’t feel Dean’s cum leaking out of him anymore. He closed his eyes, resting his face in his hands and his elbows on his bent kneecaps. There was a time when he felt loved - when he could feel the evidence of Dean’s adoration for him. Dean would always say Castiel looked perfect when he was ‘filled to the brim with cum’. Dean didn’t say that anymore. Dean didn’t say much of anything along those lines anymore, and if he did, he didn’t say them the same way. Those words used to be said with a smile followed by a feather light kiss. Now they were used as weapons for the sole purpose of humiliating Castiel or degrading him. Castiel felt his lip tremble and he sniffled softly, shaking his head at himself.

…

Castiel emerged from the bathroom almost half an hour later, a slight limp pulling at his gait. Dean’s brutal slamming combined with sitting on the toilet hadn’t done any good to his body. Dean was on his phone, typing something as the screen illuminated his face in the now dark room.  Dean must have turned off the light. Castiel laid down in the bed and covered himself, facing away from Dean. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder or try to look at what Dean was typing; he’d learned his lesson on that a while back.

Closing his eyes, Castiel let out a small huff of breath into the cold room and trembled. He gripped the blanket with both hands, curled in on himself underneath it. He felt the bed move and the clicking sound of Dean turning his phone screen off, then setting the device on the bedside table. He quietly inhaled a deep breath and furrowed his eyebrows when the bed moved again and he heard Dean’s heavy footsteps. Dean walked out of the bedroom but lingered at the door as he adjusted the heater, turning it up and then strolling back into the room. He sighed as he laid down again and covered up.

“Fucking say something if you’re cold,” he muttered.

Castiel spoke softly, afraid to talk any louder in the quiet, dark, and gradually warming room.

“S-sorry, and....and th-thank you.”

Dean grunted in response before laying down. The bed squeaked beneath him as he got comfortable, one leg making its way just enough onto Castiel’s side to touch his ankle. Castiel couldn’t help but smile. No matter how angry he was at Castiel or how drunk he was, Dean always did that. He had told Castiel long ago that the reason was to ensure Castiel hadn’t left  in the night, but Castiel could pretend it was for another, warmer reason.

Castiel often thought about leaving. He’d only ever tried twice, and neither time ended well for him.

_“Princess? Baby, please come back, please,” Dean pleaded through the phone, voice hoarse._

_Castiel sniffled, glancing over at his brother. Gabriel shook his head, unable to hear what lies Dean was corrupting his little brother with this time but knowing that whatever they were, they weren’t good. He couldn’t help but let his his eyes wander to the hand prints around Castiel’s neck, and Castiel noticed the action. He turned away and spoke into the phone, quietly, so Gabriel wouldn’t hear._

_“Y-you said y-y-you didn’t care i-if...if I l-le-left,” he said, hands trembling just as violently as his voice as he held the phone close to his ear._

_He swallowed thickly and sniffled, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping down past the cut underneath his cheekbone. He had been making them dinner and talking to Balthazar on the phone when Dean came home and heard the other man on speakerphone. He was livid and crazed with jealousy. Glasses flew and Dean knocked the pan out of Castiel’s hand, their food falling to the tiled floor of the kitchen with a loud, clanging sound. Dean grabbed Castiel by the throat and shook him, yelling in his face until his own was red and he was panting in exertion. He had spun Castiel around and attempted to shove him to the floor, but Castiel caught his balance at the last moment and ended up slamming his face against the cupboard, leaving him with a shallow cut underneath his eye that - thankfully - hadn’t leave a scar._

_Dean had been so close to his face when he grabbed him that Castiel could distinguish the familiar scent of scotch on his breath._

_Castiel met Balthazar the winter he had started dating Dean, long before Dean ever first laid a hand on him. He’d been in England over the winter as part of a foreign exchange program - only a trial really. Castiel could admit he’d felt something for the blonde brit, but Dean already had his heart by the time he got to the rainy, crowded streets of London. He’d kept those feelings buried; he wished he hadn’t now. How different would things be?_

_When Castiel returned to the states, he wrote to Balthazar for the longest time, then finally got his phone number and started texting him. The communications ended however after the incident with Dean. Balthazar continued to text him and call him, and he even wrote a few letters. Eventually that stopped. He must have gotten tired of being ignored. For every night he thought of Balthazar and how unfairly he’d been treated, Castiel cried. But Dean insisted that he was all Castiel needed, him and no one else._

_“Please Princess, please come home. It’s been two days, I need you,” Dean begged again, his voice breaking like he was crying. Castiel could picture him in his mind's eye, breaking down in a way that was so unlike the stoic front Dean presented. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want you to leave, ever, please.”_

_Castiel took a deep, shuddering breath, glancing back at Gabriel._

_Castiel returned to their shared apartment that night to a teary eyed Dean with arms open wide. He looked like a kicked puppy. Castiel let the man hold him close, encasing him in his strong arms. They had stood like that for what seemed like forever before Dean spoke up, his chest vibrating against Castiel’s ear as he talked._

_“Never leave me again,” he said, voice low and filled with a tone that made Castiel uneasy._

_“I won’t.”_

_Dean squeezed his arms around Castiel ever so slightly, voice darkening. “I know you won’t.”_

_The second time Castiel tried to leave Dean wasn’t nearly as heartwarming and no matter how hard Castiel tried to romanticize it, he couldn’t. This time he had ran to Gabriel’s house again because he dared talk back to Dean. Dean had been drinking all day, nursing his beers so he’d only gone through four by the time they’d started arguing. It hadn’t been enough to get him drunk, but it was enough to make him mean. Dean was really only mean when he drank back then. Like last time, he’d convinced Castiel to come home, though he didn’t cry like before, he’d only begged and pleaded, promising change._

_Castiel loved to watch movies on the LMN channel, or as Dean called it, ‘the single moms in their thirties channel’. He’d seen movies about abuse, but he never felt the same pain he’d seen the victims go through. He’d never experienced it until Dean first hit him. It was an eye opening moment. He understood why it was so hard for victims of abuse to leave their abusers; not only because they were anchored to their abusers by fear, but because there was still love in a lot of the relationships. As one sided as it was, Castiel loved Dean._

_Dean told him a long time ago that no one would love Castiel more than him, no one would care about him as much as Dean did, no one would want him more than Dean did. Castiel believed him, because of what happened with Balthazar. It was Castiel’s fault after all._

_“That was a stupid thing to do,” Dean said as he closed the front door to their apartment._

_He dropped Castiel’s duffle bag of clothes to the floor, glaring daggers at his trembling boyfriend. He kicked the bag, sending clothes flying over to the other man, who jumped._

_“I believed you, ya know,” Dean started, taking a slow step closer to Castiel._

_He chuckled humorlessly, squinting and watching him._

_“You said you wouldn’t leave, and I believed you. You made me look like a goddamn moron!” he yelled and kicked the bag again, harder this time. _

_More clothes flew Castiel’s way and he stepped back cautiously, a tear sliding down his cheek. Dean stormed over and grabbed both sides of Castiel’s face, pressing their foreheads together and grinding his teeth._

_“You love me, don’t you?”_

_Castiel nodded, sniffling._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah,” Castiel whispered, blue eyes locked on Dean’s._

_“Prove it.” Dean shoved Castiel’s face away with a grunt and his hands went to his belt. “Show me how much you love me.”_

_Castiel watched the man’s hands work over his belt, the metal clanging when he dropped it to the floor by his feet._

_“Get over here and kneel. If you make yourself useful then maybe I won't wrap that belt around your pretty little neck.”_

_Castiel shook as he walked over, feet leaden. Dean reached up with an exasperated sigh and pushed Castiel to his knees, rolling his eyes. He unzipped his jeans and tugged them down along with his navy blue boxers, but only just enough that he could pull his limp, uninterested cock out._

_“Get it hard,” he spat, looking down at Castiel, “hurry up.”_

_Castiel nodded slightly, not looking up at Dean as he wrapped a shaking hand around the base. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trembling as he licked a stripe up the underside. Dean groaned, his own eyes falling shut. Castiel could go as slow as he wanted. It was really just making Dean more and more impatient as more time went by that his cock wasn’t enveloped in some kind of wet heat. Once his mouth was around him though, Dean would just fuck his throat like any other day. Castiel had to have been expecting that, because he was licking slowly and Dean could tell he was forcing himself._

_Castiel took a deep breath and closed his dry lips around the base. He almost slid the man down his throat but stopped, pulling back and licking his lips to wet them, not only to make the slide easier for himself, but for Dean as well. Dry, chapped lips wouldn’t have felt too good and definitely would have earned Castiel a smack or kick. He squeezed his eyes shut, slowly taking Dean straight down to the base. He felt the man’s cock grow heavier and heavier on his tongue, and soon, like he’d expected, Dean’s hands were fisted in his dark brown hair and yanking. Dean yanked Castiel’s head back, holding him there before shaking him slightly._

_“Open your eyes.”_

_Castiel did._

_Dean smirked and pulled his hips back, then slammed them forward again. Castiel squirmed and closed his eyes, tears forming quickly and falling from them. Dean held his hair tighter and pressed the weaker man’s face into his abdomen so that Castiel’s nose was pressed into the short, wiry hairs at the base of Dean’s cock. Dean left him no time to adjust to the sudden obstruction in his throat and yanked his head away, then thrusted his hips forward into the heat. He groaned and repeated the action a few times, listening to Castiel’s helpless whimpers and whines as Dean slammed into his mouth over and over._

_Dean pulled Castiel away from his cock and looked down at him. Castiel’s lips were red and puffy and drool was leaking down his chin. Tears streamed down his cheeks, which were flushed pink from either humiliation, being repeatedly smacked by Dean’s hips, or both. Dean figured it was both._

_“Hey Cas,” he said breathlessly._

_Castiel cautiously opened his eyes and looked up at Dean, wiping the drool from his mouth and taking the little time he had free to pant for air._

_Dean winked and said tauntingly, “love ya.”_

_He grabbed the back of Castiel’s head by his hair and again forced himself down the other’s throat. He made shallow movements, the action more like a fast grinding of his hips rather than thrusting. It only took a few more minutes before he was coming and shooting down Castiel’s throat with a moan, emerald eyes fluttering closed in bliss._

_Dean was beautiful._

...

“What’s for breakfast?” Dean asked the next morning after he woke up, groggy as he walked into their small kitchen and headed straight for the coffee maker.

Castiel watched him anxiously, making sure Dean made note that Castiel had brewed a fresh pot for him before he woke up. He turned off the stove and held the skillet in his hand over a plate, watching as the omelette he’d made slid right off and onto the porcelain.

“A ham and cheese omelette,” he said, gently pushing the plate towards Dean on the counter.

Dean looked over as he poured the black coffee into the cup, nodding slightly. He placed the pot back in its spot and grabbed the plate, heading over to the table to take a seat. He set the mug down and took the fork Castiel offered him. After cutting the omelette in half, he glanced up to see Castiel washing the skillet instead of sitting across from him at the small wooden table and eating something as well. It seemed he’d been doing that a lot lately. The last time Dean remembered actually sitting down with Castiel and physically seeing him eat must have been a few days ago.

“You’re not eating?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in Castiel’s direction.

Castiel glanced back at Dean, shrugging slightly.

“I’m...I’m not hungry.”

Dean squinted, looking over Castiel like he’d spoken in another language.

Castiel shied away from the man’s eyes and dried the skillet before walking out of the kitchen.

“I-I’m um, I’m going to take a nap,” he said to Dean, lingering where he was in case Dean protested.

Dean shrugged and took a bite of the omelette. Castiel nodded in response and looked at the floor as he walked into the bedroom. He didn’t know why he was so tired. He’d slept almost all night but still felt like he hadn’t gotten enough rest. He laid down on his side of the bed and pulled the blanket over his body, looking at the wall as he toyed with a loose thread in the fabric. He didn’t know what was going on with him, really. He wasn’t hungry, he felt tired more often than he should, and he often found himself losing motivation to do anything but sleep or binge watch things on Netflix.

He got up and made a doctor’s appointment for himself for the next day. He couldn’t risk something being wrong with him.

Dean needed him.


	2. Chapter 2

The doctor’s office seemed duller than the times he’d been there before.

He didn’t know why the walls seemed so plain, they were covered in art and a large mural of some wild buffalo running was on the wall opposite him. The paintings framed and standing on the walls all around the waiting room were nice, but they seemed so  _ boring.  _ Castiel had been to this hospital at least ten times and he’d never thought the paintings were bad or boring or plain before. He certainly wasn’t interested in them, but they were pretty. They were of flowers and landscapes and sunsets and one of them was a bridge arching over a narrow stream. The colors always seemed so calm and cool, they didn’t pop out at him, and he liked it that way. They were nice to look at as he waited for his name to be called.

“Sign in please.”

Castiel picked up the pen with the chain at the end of it, attaching it to the desk where the lady sat. He signed his name on a form and filled out the few necessary fields before handing the paper back to her, the fingers on her free hand tapping away at the keyboard.

“Take a seat.”

Castiel walked over to the waiting area, sitting down in the corner under one of the paintings. The only other people in the room were a woman and her daughter, who were both texting away on their phones. Castiel adjusted himself in his seat, checking his own phone to see if anyone had messaged him. No one had. He didn’t really expect to see a message, the only people he talked to were Dean and Gabriel, and Gabriel was at work at the moment. He bit his lip and looked down at his phone screen, deciding to chance it. He sent Gabriel a text; maybe he’d respond on his break.

_ >>Having a good work day? Has anyone come into the restaurant?<< _

Castiel clicked the button on top of his phone, shutting the screen off with a click. He looked around, jumping slightly when he heard someone’s name being called. He watched the woman and her daughter stand up and disappear around the corner. He relaxed into his chair again, tapping his foot and humming softly now that he was alone. His phone chimed.

_ >>People always come into the restaurant Cas it’s four star shit<< _

Castiel frowned.

_ >>I was just trying to make conversation.<< _

He sighed and watched the dots appear and flash as Gabriel typed. He received a response a few moments later.

_ >>I know what’s up Cas? You wanna do something this weekend??<< _

Castiel smiled softly, racking his brain to try to remember if Dean would want or need him home over the weekend. He knew it would taking some convincing, but maybe Dean would be merciful. Castiel shifted in his seat and typed a response.

_ >>I’ll have to see but I’d like to, yes. :)<< _

Castiel bounced his knee nervously as he waited for a response. Gabriel hated Dean. He hated him from the very beginning. He’d always said that Dean was too controlling. Sometimes, Castiel wished he would have listened.

Gabriel’s hatred for Dean only grew the first time Castiel ran to him, when Castiel told him what Dean had done. He remembered the look of worry, rage, and disappointment in his brother’s eyes the second time Castiel came to him. Castiel vowed he wouldn’t bother him with it again, he couldn’t run away again anyways. He was sure their relationship was still strained from how quick Castiel was to forgive Dean each time, and Gabriel no doubt thought he was crazy for doing so. He just wished his brother didn’t hate him; Gabriel was all he had outside of Dean.

_ >>Alright, let me know if you have any trouble and i’ll help k? gotta get back to work text you later<< _

Castiel knew what Gabriel meant but chose not to say anything about it, typing a quick confirmation and sending it, even though Gabriel was probably already back to work.

He was alone again.

He looked at the paintings on the wall with a sigh. They were so dull. The colors didn’t seem calm anymore, they just looked muddy and gross, like someone slid their hand across the canvas while the paint was still wet. The blues and greens looked dark, as if someone had blended them together. He squinted at the flowers; they looked dead. All of the paintings looked dead. Castiel felt dead looking at them.  

Not that Castiel was an art critic, but these paintings were awful.

The room looked dark now, despite the lights mounted to the ceiling every other panel illuminating it. Castiel felt himself hunching over slightly, his elbows rested on his knees. He closed his eyes and sighed softly. He felt tired, despite having gotten more than enough sleep in the past twenty four hours. He wished the nurse would call his name already; he didn’t like being alone with his thoughts for this long. That’s why he was always doing something at home. He was always cleaning or cooking or even just watching tv- anything to keep his mind occupied. The only sound in the room was the occasional glug of the water tank a few feet away from him. He grabbed one of the small paper cups and filled it, sitting back on his chair and taking a sip. It seemed like forever before his name was finally called.

“Castiel Novak.”

He finished the water and threw the cup away before standing, allowing the nurse to lead him to the room he’d be examined in.

...

Castiel gripped the small piece of paper in his hands, crumpling it and then opening it up and flattening it with his palm, only to repeat the cycle. His body jolted as the bus stopped and another person got on. Clutching the paper close to his chest he closed his eyes and sighed. The brakes squeaked as the bus driver released his foot from the pedal and the bus started moving again. Castiel opened his eyes slowly, glancing down at the balled up paper in his fist. He flattened it again and his hands shook as he read what was written on it.

Lexapro.

Castiel was clinically depressed.

It wasn’t hard to believe really, but it was both a shock and a relief to finally know. He’d briefed the doctor on his frequent midday naps and lack of appetite lately, and it took less than ten minutes for her to determine that what was wrong with castiel was nothing physical. She didn’t sugarcoat it. Castiel was glad she didn’t, because there’s really no good way to tell someone that they’re depressed and have to take antidepressants twice a day. Castiel wasn’t looking forward to explaining this to Dean, nor was he looking forward to the taunting that would no doubt come with it.

How would he tell Dean without making it seem like it was the man’s fault, even though it most likely was?

Maybe Dean would understand. Maybe he’d take Castiel straight to the pharmacy to get the necessary drugs. Maybe he’d stop hitting Castiel if it meant helping lessen the depression.

Maybe in a perfect world.

Castiel shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and ran his hands over his face, taking a deep breath. The bus stopped and he stood, checking out the window to make sure he was in front of his apartment before getting out. He took his key from his pocket and walked into his building, waving to the lady at the front desk, intent on just walking onto the elevator and up to his floor, but she stopped him.

“What’s on your mind Clarence?”

Castiel smiled slightly and turned, looking at her. He put his key in his pocket and walked over, leaning against the counter where she sat.

“Not in a chatty mood today? That’s new for you, usually you’d be telling me about the new organic food store down the street or how you saw a stray cat and tried to pet it,” Meg said, smirking slightly.

Castiel shrugged and she dropped the smirk.

“What’s wrong?”

Castiel shook his head before speaking, “Nothing, Meg, I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Meg didn’t look convinced.

“I should go, maybe I’ll tell you about the wonders of almond milk tomorrow?” he said with a small smile.

Meg smiled again and Castiel sighed, glad he was the cause of it.

“Deal.”

…

Castiel turned his key in the lock and opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Dean or their neighbors. He stepped in and pulled his key from the lock, closing the door softly behind him before pulling off his coat. He furrowed his eyebrows when he heard a voice from the bedroom, one that was too high pitched to be Dean’s.  Stomach sinking , he crept towards the room. The door was cracked open and he pressed his back to the wall beside it, biting his lip.

“No, okay? I’m not gonna fix your car for free. It doesn’t matter how good the sex is, I don’t work for free.”

“C’mon dude! I just let you do me doggy style, I think I deserve some free maintenance.”

Castiel swallowed and closed his eyes. There was no doubt that Dean was in there, he knew the man’s voice. It had been yelling at and taunting him for the last three years. Three years must have meant something entirely different to Dean than it did to Castiel. The other voice he’d heard only once or twice before, but he knew exactly who it was. He’d met her a few times in the past when he’d been to Dean’s workplace: Jo Harvelle. Jo Harvelle was pretty, blonde, young, and not afraid to stand up for herself. Jo Harvelle was the reason Dean was laughing and smiling right now. Castiel covered his mouth with his hand as he trembled against the wall.

What did that make Castiel then?

Tears poured over his eyelids and slid down his cheeks, his hands shaking. He quietly breathed in, staying still for a few seconds before he willed his feet to move. He moved slowly, despite feeling the overwhelming urge to run until he collapsed to the ground. The last thing he needed right now was for Dean to catch him and be angry at him for eavesdropping on something so obviously private. Castiel didn’t even grab his coat, only his keys, making sure to close his fist around them tightly enough to hurt so they didn’t make too much noise. He quietly opened the door, sliding through it and closing it until it clicked.

He felt hot all over and his chest hurt. He felt like his ribcage was closing in on itself, each individual rib snapping painfully slow and splintering his heart with a thousand little fragments. He brought a hand to his stomach, stumbling back against the wall opposite their apartment door. His back thumped against the drywall and he listened to his own rapid breathing for a moment, the only oxygen getting to his lungs coming in short, choppy huffs. His back slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest. He hugged them close, shoving his face in them.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his pant legs, knees pressed together and hair falling over his ears. He must have sat there sobbing silently for the longest time, because when he finally lifted his head - which felt far too heavy for his neck - the door next to him opened and their neighbor, an older man in a robe, walked out, the look on his face telling Castiel that he was confused. Castiel stood up and glanced at the man, then at his apartment door, before walking down the hallway.

He walked past Meg, despite her asking him what happened up until the front doors separated them and Castiel was left with the quiet, cold air of the street.

…

_ “Dean? Dean I made you coffee.” _

_ Dean didn’t move, his hands stayed under the pillow that his head was rested on and his eyes stayed open and focused on the wall, rimmed red with tears. _

_ “Dean, please,” Castiel’s voice pleaded behind him. _

_ The bed dipped as Castiel sat down on his knees, edging closer to Dean and gently running his hand up and down the man’s arm, his eyes wide and concerned. Dean didn’t move, but his eyes flickered towards the action for a split second before they settled on the wall again. He didn’t want to be bothered, why couldn’t Castiel understand that? Why did Castiel always have to be so invasive? He always wanted to know how Dean felt and why he felt however he did. It was annoying. _

_ Castiel was annoying. _

_ Dean sighed, gripping the pillowcase in his large hands. He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl and Castiel’s hand hesitantly continued to rub his arm. Dean didn’t know why he felt this way, honestly. John didn’t deserve to have anyone cry over him, not Dean, not Sam, not anyone. John Winchester didn’t deserve pity, but Dean didn’t know if what he was feeling was actually pity. It felt more like anger. It felt like anger because if he’d only really gotten to know John- the John that wasn’t crying miserably over his dead wife every time he touched a drop of alcohol- then he could have had a real relationship with his dad. _

_ But he didn’t. Because he was too busy being the dad. He was the one raising Sam and giving Sam the last of the Lucky Charms when there was only one bowl’s worth left, he was the one stepping between John and Sam, he was the one picking John up off of the kitchen floor when he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom. However, he wasn’t the one who got to know John like Adam did. He didn’t get to know the John who got sober and could have taken him to baseball games and taught him to throw a ball. Instead, he was the one who missed out on having those things. He was the one who was jealous of a boy half his age who he barely knew. _

_ He was angry at John, he was angry at himself, he was angry at Castiel because he was still fucking rubbing his arm and it was really starting to piss Dean off. _

_ “Stop fucking touching me!” he screamed suddenly, sitting up and throwing the pillow at the stunned boy next to him. _

_ Castiel retracted his arm like he’d been burned, watching Dean with wide eyes. _

_ “Are you fucking retarded or something? Get the Hell out! Fuck off!” _

_ It had been the first time Dean ever hurt Castiel. He’d pushed him off of the bed and, in a fit of rage, he punched him twice in the face. He apologized the next day, and the look in Castiel’s eye when Dean came near him the following days, the look of fear, made Dean feel powerful. It made him feel like he was in charge and it was a feeling that was even more addicting to him than drinking. _

_ Castiel never left, Dean didn’t know why, but he was glad. Without Castiel, he’d feel incomplete, powerless, unwanted. He needed Castiel. _

…

Castiel listened to the dull drone of the tv in the background as he washed dishes. His hands moved slowly, one holding a plate and the other a soapy sponge. Blue eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of them, cloudy and unfocused. He wasn’t thinking about anything, it was more like he was in a trance, staring at nothing in particular as time went by. It was relaxing because he didn’t have to think about Dean or Jo or himself or Lexapro or almond milk. He could think of nothing; it was like limbo.

Dean’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he jumped, blinking a few times to pull himself back into his body. He looked around, confused as to where he was for a moment before he registered the details of the kitchen. He felt Dean press a kiss to his hair and hold him there, standing behind his smaller body as a looming presence. Castiel faked a small smile and rinsed off the final plate before setting it on the rack to dry.

“You gonna start dinner soon?” Dean asked, his voice muffled where his lips were pressed to Castiel’s hair.

“Yes, I’ll take a shower first though. I haven’t in two days.”

“Alright, yeah, you stink,” Dean said and let go of Castiel and opening the fridge. He took out a soda can and popped the lid.

Castiel watched Dean walk back into the living room with the soda and sit back down on the couch with a grunt. Dean picked up the remote and changed the channel, finding some cooking show to watch and taking a sip of the soda. Castiel let his eyes linger on the back of the man’s head for a while before he set the dish cloth down and quietly opened the knife drawer. He pulled out a large knife, one he usually used to cut potatoes and vegetables. With one hand gripping the handle of the knife until his knuckles were white, he made his way around the island, his footsteps quiet.

Dean remained fixed on the tv and Castiel slowly made his way over, watching the man cautiously. He paused his movements when the channel went to commercials, but Dean seemed to be watching those too, so he continued. He was a few steps away from the couch, hand shaking as he held the knife. Dean took another drink of his soda and Castiel watched him, chewing on his lip and praying that the blonde didn’t look over his shoulder, which he very easily could have done at any moment.

Castiel remembered all the times Dean hit him, or shoved him, or called him some horrible name. He remembered the sound of Jo Harvelle’s flirty giggle as she laid with Dean in his bed. He remembered that Dean cuddled with Jo after they finished having sex. He remembered and he passed him by, heading into the bathroom a few feet behind the couch to the left. He closed the door a took a deep breath, quietly locking it before pressing his back to it. His heart was pumping fast, body shaking. He looked down at the knife and swallowed thickly, nodding to himself and placing it on the bathroom counter.

He stripped down and turned on the water, testing it with his hand a few times to make sure it was warm enough before he grabbed the knife and stepped in. He closed his eyes, letting the warm water pour over him. Yellow, nearly healed bruises littered his body, fingerprint shapes on his hips and thighs blossoming purple and brown against his sun kissed skin. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t have some sort of mark on him, whether Dean did it intentionally out of anger or it happened during rough, angry sex.

He gripped the knife tightly in his hand, opening his eyes and looking at the tile wall in front of him.

He shuddered and felt a tear slid down his cheek, mixing with the water. He cried softly, only bringing his hand up to wipe his cheeks when his vision got blurry. He looked down at his, feeling disgusted. He sniffled and placed his hand on the wall, gently helping himself to his knees on the tub floor. It was uncomfortable. He sat down and pressed his bare back to the cold wall, gasping as goosebumps rose to his skin. He took another steadying breath, hands shaking and head bobbing.

“Come on,” he whispered to himself, “do it.”

He looked down at his forearms, turning them so the paler underside was facing up. He didn’t hesitate, because if he had, he’d just psych himself out. He sliced a deep, long, vertical cut down each arm, then dropped the knife down beside him. He rested his head back against the shower wall, looking across him at the curtain, studying the pattern.


	3. Chapter 3

Blue and red flashed outside East Point Apartment Complex.

The owner, an older man with an anger problem named Azazel stood with his arms crossed as he talked to a policeman. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be out of his office for this. It was six o’clock in the evening, he had better things to be doing, or so he said; Azazel wasn’t an exciting or interesting man, his ‘better things’ probably revolved around sitting in his office watching porn or Judge Judy segments on Youtube. This was probably the first time he had been out of his office the whole day.

Meg was tapping her foot impatiently, close to punching the paramedic holding her back and preventing her from going into the apartment. The door was wide open and two men pushed a gurney inside the small living unit, rushing towards the bathroom. The tv was still on from where Dean had left it during the commercials to check on Castiel, who had been in the shower for at least an hour before Dean found him.

_ The episode he’d been watching suddenly cut to commercial right before a big climax and Dean groaned as an ad with a woman talking about intestinal problems came on the screen. He chugged down the remaining half inch of beer from his bottle and stood up, walking towards the kitchen to get another. _

_ “Fucking asshole Negan...motherfucker,” he muttered to himself as he opened the fridge. _

_ He stopped and stood straight from where he had bent over to reach into the lower portion of the fridge, looking around with furrowed eyebrows. The tv kept playing where it was and the couch was empty since he’d gotten up. He checked the time. He had started the show over an hour ago, when Cas said he’d gone to take a shower. Cas did take long showers, but they never exceeded forty minutes. Maybe he’d gone to bed. Dean grabbed his beer and closed the fridge, then walked over to the closed bathroom door and knocked on it with the base of the bottle, but got no answer. He sighed in irritation. _

_ “If you’re in there any longer, you’ll use up all our hot water for the month!” he called out in order to be heard over the pelting of the water against the bathtub. _

_ Castiel didn’t answer; Dean didn’t like that. _

_ He banged on the door again, this time with his fist so he wouldn’t break his bottle with the force used. _

_ “You hear me or not?” _

_ Dean swung the door open when he still got no response. He set his bottle down on the counter with a clank and walked over to the closed curtain, yanking it open and opening his mouth to yell at Castiel. His eyes fell to the floor of the tub and rogue water bounced off of the walls, tiny, microscopic droplets landing on Dean’s face, the water was cold. For a moment, Dean just stared, eyes wide. It was like he was really taking the time to process the image. _

_ The first thing that came to his mind was, selfishly enough, the fact that he would be alone again. _

_ The water that fell from the shower head was clear, like it was supposed to be. _ _ It would land on Castiel’s body and wash down the drain seconds later red.  _ _ The knife from the kitchen, the one he’d seen Castiel using multiple times, was on the floor of the tub beside his boyfriend. As soon as he could breathe again, he stumbled forward and into the tub, kneeling beside Cas, his Cas, and let his shaking hands find the man’s face. He turned his face toward himself to try to look at him, to try to convince himself that Cas was okay. Castiel’s eyes were closed, and the blonde found himself desperate to look into the blue, to let the color comfort him, like it used to. The smaller man’s face was slack, and it looked like he was sleeping. _

_ With wavering breaths, Dean leaned forward and listened for any sounds or puffs of air that might be heard. Castiel’s chest didn’t move, there was no breathing to be heard, Dean didn’t feel any air on his cheek like he should have. Dean slowly pulled away and gently patted Castiel’s face, swallowing thickly and waiting for his boyfriend’s eyes to flutter open. His hands trembled violently as he took out his phone and kept it out of the way of the water as he dialled 911, resting his forehead against the other’s. _

_ They took forever to get there, but when they did, Dean was cuddling Castiel close. He had turned the water off but was still shaking, his lips pressing soft kisses to damp, almost black hair. Tears fell down his cheeks and he stared at the wall beside him as he muttered so low he could hardly hear even himself. _

_ “Please, pl-please baby...don’t go. Don’t leave me, please, I’ll...I’ll treat you how you deserve, I’ll treat you like a goddamn prince, I swear to God. I’ll...I’ll treat you right, just don’t leave me...I need you,” he sobbed and finally closed his eyes, “I’ll never hurt you again, I’m sorry!” _

_ Blue eyes watched Dean sadly from just outside the tub, clear as day. Castiel kneeled down and watched the man cry, biting his lip. He rested his chin on the edge of the tub. _

_ “I won’t leave you,” he whispered. _

Dean watched as the paramedics closed the back doors of the ambulance, his hands still shaking. He blinked as the engine started up, loud and rumbling as they drove off. Castiel wanted to reach out and touch him from where he stood, a few feet behind his love, but he found himself physically unable to raise his arm, or do anything other than watch Dean hurry to his car. The blonde started up his engine and sped off after the ambulance. Castiel heard music suddenly and blinked; there was a man with a pocket watch standing beside him.

…

Gabriel held onto the small marble vase in his arms, jaw set as he watched Dean. Kali tugged slightly at his arm, her thin, black gloves could only provide so much warmth in the nearly freezing temperature. Gabriel turned his head to her, his eyes dark.

“Go wait in the car,” he said, and she sighed.

“You think you’re gonna take him on? He’ll snap you in half like a twig, let’s just go home.”

Gabriel didn’t answer her, ignoring her warning and looking over at Dean again where the man stood by the doorway to the hall. Castiel’s name was carved into a gold plate and hung to the wall, just high enough that they could read it without having to get a ladder. Half of the ashes were in an urn behind the plate, the other half in the urn in Gabriel’s arms. He handed the multi-colored vase to Kali, ignoring her sigh of annoyance as he walked over to Dean. Meg was talking to Dean, knowing that he and castiel were together, but not much else about their relationship. Gabriel figured this and decided he’d let her know.

“You’re a fucking murderer, you know that?” he blurted out when he was close enough, just barely stopping himself from shoving at Dean’s chest.

Dean was almost a foot taller than Gabriel, and could easily squash him like a bug, but Gabriel would happily take a beating if it meant he could get at least one good punch in. Meg turned her head towards the smaller man and furrowed her eyebrows, Dean had about the same reaction.

“If you woulda just left Cas alone, he’d still be here, and he’d be happy,”

Dean looked taken aback, and even though he knew Gabriel was right, he got defensive.

“Fuck off, little man. You’re not the only person who loved him.”

Gabriel scoffed.

“You didn’t love him, you ‘owned’ him.”

“I loved him,” Dean growled and shoved the shorter man, nearly sending him falling to the floor, but Gabriel stopped himself.

“Go fuck yourself you bag of dicks. If you loved him, then why did he run to me when you beat him up? Huh? And why did he stop coming to me after that second time? I know why, because he knew what you’d do to him if he did. You’re a fucking pathetic excuse for a human being and you made my brother kill himself just to get away from you.”

Meg backed away slightly and caught Dean’s eyes. Castiel never spent too long talking to her, and he would always glance around like he was nervous, and now it made sense why he did. She shoved Dean by his chest and watched his eyes land on her. He didn’t look angry, but instead, there was a look in his eyes that almost looked remorseful. He didn’t say anything else, but he did give the urn Kali was holding, where she still stood back where Gabriel had left her, a longing look before walking out and quickly walking to his car.

He was a murderer.

“I want...i want the urn,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the dual handed vase in the woman’s arms. “I don’t care if you don't believe me, I loved him. I need...I  _ need _ him.”

Gabriel scoffed and turned to walk away, but Dean stopped him, slamming him up against the wall of plaques.

“I. Need. Him.”

The smaller man grunted and tried to shove Dean off of him, to no avail.

“Get your damn dirty fucking paws off of me, or I swear to God-”

“He was my boyfriend-”

“He was  _ my _ brother!”

Dean panted and watched Gabriel with dark, narrowed eyes. Meg was the one to break the silence in the tense air.

“Let him go,” Dean didn’t listen and just tightened his grip on the shorter man’s shirt, making him choke slightly, but not lose the deadly look in his eyes as he looked at Dean, “let him go or I’ll have you evicted.’

She knew it wasn’t a very powerful argument, but it seemed to do the trick because Dean finally let go and the sound of Gabriel’s feet making contact with the floor once again echoed through the long hallway. Kali came over finally and practically dragged Gabriel away before he could throw any punches. But before she was in the clear with him, he grabbed Dean’s sleeve and glared at him from down where he was.

“He’s finally free of you, let him have be happy.”

…

Dean slammed the door to their - his - apartment and threw his keys across the room, swallowing thickly. He was panting, closing his mouth when he tasted tears sliding down and onto his lips. Sharp intakes of breath passed his nostrils and he stumbled back slightly against the door, the action sounding through the dark room with a  _ thud.  _ He closed his eyes, to try to shield them from having to look at the dimply lit little home. Nothing looked right.

He was so used to seeing the curtains open and the bright sun shining through the window above the kitchen sink, illuminating the room. But he hadn't opened those curtains in two weeks; they remained in the same position as they were the night he found Castiel. The dishes were piling up on the counter space surrounding the sink, since there wasn’t any room to put them in the sink due to the mountain in that as well. Cas usually did the dishes every night; he said it calmed him. The house didn’t smell like any kind of delicious, freshly cooked food. Cooking and baking calmed Cas too. The rug by the couch was folded over haphazardly from when Dean had gotten up to check on Castiel and was too lazy to fix it from where his foot had gotten caught on it. He still hadn’t gotten to straightening it out after two weeks.

He wanted things to be okay, like they were before. Was that so bad?

Yes; because things weren’t good before, not for Cas.

He swallowed and pushed himself away from the door with one shaking arm, making his way towards the bedroom. The hallway leading to his bedroom at the end of it was the darkest part of the house. The lack of light somehow just made the yellow caution tape covering the bathroom door stick out more. He passed by the room and stopped, turning to it and resting his back against the wall across from the door. He hadn’t gone in there yet, not to piss, not to shower, not to brush his teeth. He pissed out the window when he had to, shitting was a different experience. He showered and brushed his teeth at Jo and Ellen Harvelle’s house, always ignoring Jo’s insistent questions.

_ “He’s out of the way now, why don’t you move in here?” _

_ “Don’t you want to move on?” _

_ “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?” _

Dean closed his eyes at the exaggerated shrill memory of her voice, wondering how he ever found her attractive in the first place; she was like an annoying twelve year old. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands over his face, swallowing a growing lump in his throat. He breathed in shakily and peeked his eyes open. He exhaled and tore the tape off until the door was bare. It looked normal now; it didn’t feel normal. He threw the tape angrily and watched it float in the air before hitting the ground at his feet. With his back to the wall, he made his way to the bedroom with small movements of his feet, slamming the door once he was inside. It wasn’t that he felt safe in this room, quite the opposite actually, but being here made him feel tired. If he slept, he didn’t have to think. It was a good trade.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his shoes off, dropping them to the floor with a  _ thump _ . His black coat was next, then the same darkly colored tie. He laid back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling, eyes wandering over whatever patterns he could make out of the textured white. The wind blew outside, sliding across the window pane with a whistle. The rest of the world was silent and Dean smiled, laughing hoarsely and closing his eyes. He shook his head and covered his face with his hands, laughing louder and louder until banging could be heard on the wall behind him.

“Shut up, goddamn queer!” someone shouted from the other side of the wall, their voice muffled, but Dean could tell it was an elderly man, the same elderly man that he had liked to be extra loud for when he fucked Castiel just to annoy him.

Castiel.

He wiped the tears that fell down his temples as he laugh-cried, sniffling and exhaling softly. He thought about all the times he’d felt so good about himself, looking into Castiel’s fear-filled baby blues every time Dean was on top of him. He thought about every time he’d take castiel from behind, Castiel cried into the pillow. He thought about every time Castiel asked if he could be on top, or at least bottom from the top by riding Dean. He thought about the day Castiel stopped asking that and just took what Dean dished out to him.

Dean ran a calloused hand through his hair, then pulled it back and looked at his palm.

He thought of all the bruises he’d left all over Castiel. He thought of all the times Castiel flinched away whenever Dean would even slightly raise his arm. He thought of every time Castiel made a noise when Dean hit him, the sounds had never affected him before, but now it felt like a montage of every pained noise Castiel ever made was playing on a loop in his mind; it was awful. Every squeak, whimper, and quiet sob had him flinching, as if he was the one being hit. He shook his head and curled his fingers into a fist, teeth grinding in anger. He wanted to know, he needed to know what it felt like.

He brought his fist down to his stomach as hard as he could manage and groaned, his breath literally knocked out of him. He buckled forward and slid off of the bed, his knees landing on the floor beneath him and his forehead pressed to them. He wrapped his arms around his midsection and wheezed, trying to find his breath again. That fucking hurt. How was Castiel able to take that and more almost every day? Tears sprung to Dean’s eyes, but not because of the punch, because of the fact that he’d inflicted that kind of pain on someone he claimed to love so often that it made him take his own life, and all just to feel powerful.

Why couldn’t he realize any of this before Castiel was gone? Why did it take the death of the last person who cared about him to realize that he was an asshole?

Dean cried, and cried, and cried.

…

012479

It was the passcode to unlock Castiel’s phone. Dean knew because that’s what he had set it at, so he’d always be able to check Castiel’s phone whenever he felt like it, which he rarely did.

Dean set the large white phone on the top of the dresser, swallowing as the song he’d put on started. He didn’t unlock Cas’ phone to go through it, there wasn’t any point to that now, he just wanted to be reminded of his Cas, his boy. The slow hum of the piano started playing, low and melodic as it radiated from the speaker at the base of the phone. He’d heard it playing before, through Castiel’s earbuds as he washed the dishes or cleaned around the apartment. It was one of Castiel’s most played songs.

_ Imagine there’s no heaven, it isn’t hard to do _

Dean pulled off his shirt and replaced it with a darker one, the one that had the hole in the armpit.

_ It’s easy if you try, no hell below us, above us only sky _

Dean changed into just his boxers and sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, taking a drink from his beer bottle. The drums kicked in and Dean bobbed his head slightly to the change in rhythm.

_ Imagine all the people, livin’ for today, ah-ah ah _

Dean closed his eyes and sighed before taking another long drink.

_ Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do, nothin’ to kill or die for, and no religion too _

Dean found out quickly that this song was both easy to like and hate. He liked it because it was so Cas; it was calm and sweet and gentle, all about peace and love and tolerance. He hated it for the same reasons. It made him wonder why he could ever hurt someone so calm and sweet and gentle, something so peaceful and loving. Fuck John Lennon.

_ Imagine all the people, livin’ life in peace, yoo-hoo, you may say I’m a dreamer _

“But I’m not the only one, I hope someday you’ll join us,” Dean chuckled, swearing he could hear Castiel’s voice singing along.

Castiel swayed beside Dean, his legs brought up to his chest with his arms hugged around them. He sung along quietly and watched dean, a gentle smile on his plump lips.

“And the world will be as one,” Dean joined in and all three voices sang together, the best obviously being John Lennon’s.

_ Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can, no need for greed or hunger, a brotherhood of man, imagine all the people, sharing all the world, yoo-hoo _

“You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one,” Dean furrowed his eyebrows when he felt a weight on his shoulder and turned his head to see a mop of dark hair rested against him, Castiel’s voice echoing through the room, “I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will live as one.”

Castiel sighed and smiled as the song ended with the piano fading out and the next song started up, which also began with a soft piano melody.

“Cas?” Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice, he sounded terrified and small.

Castiel pulled away from Dean’s shoulder and looked up at the man, their eyes connecting and tears slowly filling Dean’s, blurring his vision. Castiel wasn’t doing the same, which was odd considering Castiel was usually the most emotional person on the planet. He was just looking at Dean’s face, his head tilting and a smile forming on his lips.

“Finally,” he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean scrambled back. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest;  _ thump, thump, thumpthump, thumpthumpthump.  _ He swallowed and stood up, tripping over his own foot as he tried to step backwards and ending up falling to the floor with a sound that mimicked his heart beat. He rubbed his eyes roughly, hard enough that he could see the golden specs and glimmers floating around in his vision. When he opened his eyes again, there Castiel was, sitting in the same spot he’d left him, his eyes filled with concern as he watched Dean.

Castiel’s eyes weren’t the same shade of pacific blue. Castiel’s eyes were dull, the irises a bored blue, like one of the blues in that shitty twelve pack of crayons. Not only that, but his eyes looked sullen, his face sunken. Castiel was known to have a full, oval shaped face, with the exception of sharp cheekbones that sat underneath his eyes; so where was this face? Where was this face Dean grew to know and love. His cheekbones looked sharper than usual, his cheeks concave and defining the bones. His lips looked even more chapped than before, and paler. Castiel in general looked paler, his once sun-kissed tan skin now whiter than Dean’s. He looked sickly.

Dean flinched and stood up quickly when he watched Castiel extend his hand, his frail, white hand. Castiel recoiled gracefully, the quiet wheezing sound Dean emitted the only thing audible in the room other than the song playing. Castiel looked over at where his phone sat on the dresser and sighed, the music stopped playing and Castiel looked back to Dean. With shaking legs, Dean grabbed the bottle of beer and threw it at the man, because this wasn't real, and the alcohol was to blame. Before he could register it, the spot was empty and Dean blinked a few times, just to be sure. He was breathing raggedly, chest heaving. As he exhaled shakily, a small white cloud was freed from his mouth. The room was suddenly colder and Dean hugged his arms around himself, rubbing them for warmth.

Dean didn’t move from his spot, his back pressed up against the wall and legs shaking as they held up his weight. He watched the spot, as if Castiel - his hallucination - would come back. He didn’t want it to come back, it looked too much like Castiel, yet nothing like him at the same time. Castiel had a full face. Castiel had bright eyes, at least, he did once. They hadn’t been bright or showed any genuine happiness in a while, but still, they’ve never quite looked like  _ that.  _ Dean jumped when music again filled the room, his head turning to look at the phone sitting on the dresser, untouched. A piano played and a soft voice started singing, signalling the changing of a song to a new one.

… 

Somehow, Dean was able to crawl into the bed and manage to get a few hours of sleep. The sleep did him good, it helped him realize that last night was the result of grief mixed with guilt mixed with alcohol, and he vowed that he wouldn’t drink again until he was able to collect himself and move on from Castiel. Of course, that didn’t work for him. He was currently sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the tv as some old British show about a doctor played. He was almost completely finished with the last beer of his pack, making a mental note that he’d have to pick more up at some point. He downed the last of the bottle and sighed, setting it on the floor beside his feet. A flash of light caught his attention and he refocused his eyes, turning his head to the left to see Castiel’s phone screen lit up. It faded to black again after a few seconds and Dean sighed, reaching over to pick it up. He shuddered when his hand hovered over the object, a sudden cold spreading up his arm, like he’d just come in from a storm.

He picked up the phone before a pale hand that had been extended could, the hand recoiling and fidgeting with the fingers on the opposite hand. Castiel watched as Dean typed in the passcode and opened up his messages, leaning over so he could see. Dean couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to worry about the man getting angry at him for being nosey, even though it was his phone. Dean went through his phone on occasion, his reason for checking it so seldomly being that nobody cared about Castiel enough to text him, other than his brother. Castiel knew he was right, but the words had made Castiel wish he had people who texted him often like Gabriel did, just so he could feel loved. Then again, that would just make Dean suspicious.

Dean felt a cold chill on the left side of his neck as he opened up the new message, rubbing the spot with his hand. He read the text and frowned slightly.

_ >>Gabriel gave me this number. _

_ I’m sorry Cassie. I never should have given up trying to contact you. Maybe if I hadn’t, you’d still be around. Maybe, if you had someone, me, to talk to everyday, someone to make you feel wanted and cherished, you would have found a reason to leave that twat Winchester. You deserved so much better than him. I know this isn’t going to bring you back, or fix anything, but for what it’s worth, I would have worshipped you. You deserved to be worshipped. You at least deserved to be loved. I love you. _

_ -Balthazar<< _

Castiel smiled softly, his eyes stinging as bright blue rushed into them, overpowering the dark, dull blue. Dean grinded his teeth together and smashed the button atop the phone so that the screen went to black. He tossed the phone back onto the couch beside him and stood up, doing the same with the remote so that the tv powered off. He grabbed his jacket and yanked it on, snatching his keys from the rack and swinging the door open. The apartment walls shook as Dean slammed the door shut and Castiel flinched. He sighed softly, looking at the phone again and smiling.

Off in a small town in Britain, a blonde man who stared at his phone screen furrowed his eyebrows. The man, Balthazar, felt an odd, but warm feeling in stomach. The feeling spread through his chest and he smiled, switching the phone off and setting it down. All the regret and guilt dissipated from his body. He was okay.

…

The door opened and slammed closed as Dean came in from the cold, holding a brand new six pack of beer and made his way to the small kitchen. He set the pack in the fridge with a grunt, pulling one out and opening it up, taking a swig to warm his body up. He kicked the fridge door closed and pulled off his coat. Because his body was still adjusting to the sudden change in temperature, the contrast being from the cold outside forces to the slightly warmer interior of their - his - apartment, he didn’t feel the cold chill signifying Castiel’s presence. 

Blue eyes watched Dean’s movements, the clang of his keys being dropped on the counter making Castiel jump. Fear was one of the things he still knew about, even in his phantom-esque state. Fear had been embedded in him, it wasn’t going to just disappear like his sadness and loneliness did. He was grateful that those emotions had left, he didn’t particularly like them. He wished fear had gone with them though, because with each grunt Dean made, each step he took, each heavy sigh he made, had Castiel flinching. He wasn’t sure if, given the opportunity, Dean would hurt him again.

_ “Don’t leave me, please.” _

_ “I’ll treat you how you deserve.” _

_ “I’ll never hurt you again.” _

Had Dean really meant what he said? When he was holding Castiel, waiting for medical help, had he really meant it? Castiel couldn’t let himself believe it, in all their years together, Dean hadn’t changed. He got off on the power he felt from hurting Castiel, he craved it, like he craved alcohol. Castiel knew it was just the grief talking when Dean was holding him in the bathroom, because if Castiel had managed to survive slitting his wrists open, Dean would angry with him and calling him selfish for trying to leave him. Dean would still be hitting him.

Castiel closed his eyes at the thought, the taste of bile rising in his throat. The lights flickered and Dean looked up at them, tapping them with the top of his beer bottle until they stopped. Castiel stopped thinking about what Dean would be saying to him or doing to him if he was still alive and looked over at the man again. He watched Dean tilt his head back and drink more of the beer before walking out and heading right back to the couch. He turned the tv on and Castiel walked over cautiously, sitting down beside the man. He rested his head on Dean’s broad shoulder and watched the show with him.

…

The tv kept playing as Dean slept, his head tilted back against the cushioning of the couch, empty beer bottle in his hand but ready to teeter onto the floor. Castiel’s head was still rested on Dean's shoulder, eyes wide open. He hadn't laid with Dean like this in so long. It felt nice. He rubbed his hand up and down the man's arm, humming softly. The sound was soft and it echoed off of the walls of their apartment.

Castiel looked down at his hand where it caressed Dean's muscled arm, the white contrasted Dean's pale, freckled skin. He smiled. He loved Dean's freckles. Dean had them on his cheeks scattered across the bridge of his nose as well. They resided in patches on his shoulders and back, sparse on his arms, but still there. He even had a few on his rear. They were one of Castiel's favorite features of Dean's.

He kissed the man's shoulder gently and curled up closer to him. 

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in his sleep, a thin cloud of white emanating from his lips when he breathed. His mind was calm, he watched himself standing in an empty room that looked a lot like their - his - apartment. There was no wallpaper or furniture, not even Castiel's stupid little potted plant in the windowsill above the sink. He looked around, there were no doors either.

He turned around and jumped when he saw Castiel. He saw his baby, and he wanted to run over to him, but when he tried, he felt his body weight suddenly double, then triple. He fell to the floor, groaning and struggling to lift his head. When he did, Castiel was standing in front of him. He was thin and pale and cold and his eyes were dull. Dean reached out to grab him, pulling him down by his wrist so they were at the same level. 

Castiel looked at him, eyes squinting adorably in the way they did when he didn't understand something. Dean felt the urge to look down at his hand, and when he did, Castiel's wrist was bleeding. The two horizontal cuts Dean had caught a glimpse of in the bathroom were practically gushing with blood. No wonder Castiel looked so sickly. Dean's hand was covered in the blood as well, but he kept pulling. Castiel gripped Dean's arm, making him look up at the ethereal boy as he spoke to Dean.

“Now  _ you're _ trapped.”

...

Dean woke up with sweat on his upper lip and forehead, eyes frantic as he looked around the apartment. The furniture was there, as well as the wallpaper. He looked over to the window above the kitchen sink and sighed in relief when he saw the little potted plant. He furrowed his eyebrows and examined it closer, standing up and dragging his feet along the floor towards it. He braced himself against the counter and leaned closer, squinting as he looked at it, really looked at it.

He didn't know what flower it was, but it was bright blue and the petals curved together in a way that looked like a closed umbrella, or the figure of a woman. The flower was a dark, but shockingly vibrant blue, and it hung to one side due to the way the stem grew naturally. It wasn't too tall, maybe just barely matching the length of the stretch from the tip of Dean's middle finger to the top of his wrist. It was a nice little flower.

The reason he was examining it so closely was because of how  _ alive  _ it looked. Dean hadn't thought to water it in the weeks that followed Castiel's death. Without water for two weeks, give or take a few days, it surely should have died. Why hadn't it? But it looked as vibrant and lively as ever, stem curving towards the direction of where the sun would usually position itself in the sky during the day. 

Castiel watched Dean lean closer to his little flower, chapped lips cracking ever so slightly as he smiled. Dean had never paid attention to his flower before, he doubted that the man ever even recognized its existence. The flower’s petals seemed to curve back at the ends in time with Castiel's lips curling into a smile, either that or Dean was seeing things. Dean stood straight again at that, sighing and shaking his head. He was too drunk, for once.

Pulling off his shirt, Dean headed towards the bedroom, stopping by the couch to snatch up the remote and turn off the tv. He ran a hand over the left side of his face and groaned, walking into the bedroom. Castiel followed. Dean undressed down to his boxers and his eyes darted around the little, dull room. Castiel's side of the bed was still perfectly made, the way he'd left it. He felt the odd urge to walk over to the neat side, so he did. He opened the drawer of the nightstand on that side, pulling out a little picture that was in there underneath some trinkets. He sat down carefully on the bed and looked at the picture. 

It was of them, the both of them. Dean didn't know Castiel still had it from when they'd first taken it. The brunette must have gotten it developed to keep. Dean's head had been rested on Castiel's shoulder when they took it, both of them smiling widely. He set it down on the nightstand and picked up a handful of the little pond rocks Castiel had collected over the years. He looked at them in his palm, they were all smaller than the pad of his thumb, but varying in shape. He smiled softly. 

With a few clunking sounds, he set them back in the drawer. He shivered then, feeling a sudden cold chill running down his spine. He looked down at his forearm, where Castiel had grabbed in his dream. There was nothing there, but it felt like he was slowly freezing from the inside out. The feeling slowly dissipated when Castiel's thin form flickered. He stood in the corner of the room now, having sensed how uncomfortable Dean felt. He looked down at his pale hands and watched them shake, panting softly. He hadn't meant to make Dean feel so cold, he didn't feel cold at all, he couldn't tell that the temperature was radiating off of him.

He looked back over at the man sitting on the bed, a dark green, so dark it was almost black, crystal in his large, rough hands. Castiel loved that crystal, he'd gotten at a little kiosk in the mall one day a while ago. The older lady who sold it to him reminded him of Stevie Nicks, she was kind and her nose wrinkled up when she smiled. Castiel liked her. She described the crystals as chakras, and the one she gave him had a special name, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. He knew it had started with an A. She had told him that the crystal meant...something. 

What did it mean?

He knew she had told him something, he knew it. He remembered that day so vividly. It was a Sunday, he didn't have anything else to do since Dean was off spending time with a family member, or so he claimed. It was nice outside, a nice breeze just barely able to blow Castiel's hair from the top of his forehead when he had walked to the mall. It was a long trek, but it was worth it to find such a beautiful crystal. 

Why couldn't he remember? 

He could remember the weather and the walk just fine, especially when a bumble bee landed on the sleeve of his sweater and just stayed there for a few moments before buzzing away again. He could remember the name of the kiosk too, wait, well he knew it started with a K. At least, he thought it did. He couldn't remember the name of the kiosk either, or the actual mall, or the description of the crystal the lady gave him. What was wrong with him?

He was brought back from the memory with an echoed sigh. His head snapped up from the floor and he focused his eyes on Dean again, who had laid back down on his own side and sighed in exhaustion. Castiel's trinkets were back in his drawer and it was closed. The night was long, Castiel didn't sleep at all, he couldn't sleep. He stayed awake, sitting on his side of the bed with his back facing Dean's sleeping form. Every time Dean made a sound in his sleep, whether it was a snore or a smacking of his lips, Castiel would touch the corner of the blanket covering his lover's body and Dean would be soothed.

By the time the morning sun rays where shining through the curtains, Castiel had been laying next to Dean, watching the ceiling as if he was expecting something about it to change. He hadn't slept all night, he was unable to. Anytime he closed his eyes, the eerie silence deemed the action useless. He couldn't remember the last time he slept; the concept of time had left him. The only thing he knew about time was that if the sun was out, it was day. If the moon was out, it was night. 

What day was it?

What month were they now in?

How long had it been since he left the apartment? 

How long had it been since he stopped feeling the thrum of his heart in his chest cavity whenever he was near Dean?

There was a time when his heart would beat especially loud for Dean, with just a brush of the man's fingers on his arm, or just a simple peek at his bright white teeth behind a smile. It had been a nice feeling. The feeling slowly changed over time, it decayed and rotted into something he dreaded. His heart drummed quickly whenever the sense of danger coursed through his veins. Just looking as Dean's hands and picturing the clenched fists had the ache in his chest growing. 

Dean woke up with a mumble, turning into his side. He faced Castiel's side of the bed, stretching his legs. He rotated his ankles until they popped, groaning in satisfaction. Dean stayed in bed for some time, eventually he had grabbed Castiel's pillow and hugged it to his chest. Castiel watched from where he sat, eyes fixed on the man's arms tensing as he gripped the pillow, the veins in his arms more prominent than ever. Dean was up and dressed and off to work within the hour. 

Castiel was alone again.

Before the sky became a duller blue than he remembered, before he lost track of time, before he started feeling colder than before - Castiel would spend his time in the apartment by watching tv. He would watch whatever was on. Usually, if something he really couldn't stand to watch was on, bed think about the Animal Planet channel, blink, and that's what he would all of a sudden be watching. It was something he couldn't explain, so he didn't try, he just tried to enjoy the clips of puppies meeting other animals for the first time. It made him smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Days passed and Dean had called to make an appointment with the building manager about the heater being broken. Alistair was a sleazy man, he'd do anything to avoid spending an extra buck. That's why Dean didn't believe him when the man said the heater wasn't broken. The day after Dean called and complained, Alistair came up to the apartment and messed around with the buttons on the thermostat. There was a clicking noise and then hot air shot through the vents.

“Told you,” Alistair said with a sneer.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and held his arm up, hand right next to the vent. He felt the warm air blowing across his palm and he scoffed.

“Well it wasn't working yesterday, I've been freezing my ass off in here for the past like, two weeks,” he claimed, pulling his arm back down.

He crossed his arms and looked at the scrawny man heading for the door.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“If it happens again I'm suing,” Dean said, voice slightly raised to get the man's attention before he left.

Alistair walked out with a chuckle, slamming the door behind him. Dean sighed and pulled out one of the chairs tucked underneath the dining table, sitting on it with a thump. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around at the sad little apartment, in all of its depressing glory. The lights were on, even the ones in the bedroom, but the place still looked so dark. The curtains were closed, so not very much natural light was allowed into the room.

It had a certain mood to it.

It felt like a thick blanket was laid on top of Dean in the heat of the summertime every time he stepped inside. Except, it wasn't hot. Obviously, since he had called Alistair over to look at the thermostat, heat wasn't the problem. The blanket more so referred to a suffocating feeling. Dean felt like it was ten times harder to take a nice, deep breath when he was here. He was almost always here; he was either here or at work.

Castiel had left his imprint on the little home they made here. He had picked out the placemats, silverware, curtains, rugs, bedsheets, artwork, and most of the food in their fridge. Dean couldn't take one step in the apartment without being reminded of Castiel. Everything had a duller tone to it now though. The intricate little designs on the silverware handles seemed to blend together into nothing. The colors in the paintings on the walls seemed muddy and mixed into a pile of paint. He rugs turned into simple patches of fabric.

Dean stood up and walked over to the tv, crouching down to where their shared collection of CDs were neatly stacked on the shelves holding the tv up, courtesy of Cas. He picked out a few of the square cases, looking at them. Cas liked Ed Sheeran, he must've had at least three of his CDs. The dude seemed to have a math theme with how the CDs were titled. Dean looked at the back of one, the orange one, and read through the songs. After examining them for a little while longer, he put them back. He took out a different CD, one that didn't have a label, but upon opening it, he saw something written on the CD itself. He could only figure Castiel had burned songs onto a blank CD.

Standing from his spot, he walked over to his laptop on the couch, popping open the disc reader in the side and placing the disc named ‘Dean’ in carefully. He pushed it closed and waited for the computer to read the CD. A little window popped up and an acoustic guitar started strummimg. He enlarged the window, listening to the song as it played. He felt a bit of a cold feeling running up his left arm, but ignored it as the vocals for the song began to play.

Castiel smiled as he watched Dean's eyes drift to the wall, listening intently to the song. He hoped he liked it. He had made it for the man a few months ago, planning on giving it to him for his birthday, which was this month coincidentally. At least Dean had got it, even if he couldn't give it to him. He was just watching the side of his boyfriend's face, yearning to touch the light brown stubble growing on his cheeks. After a while, he couldn't take it anymore. Dean hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day - miraculously - so he'd have to believe his eyes.

“This one is by that band you heard in the car last week, Paramore. It's called ‘The Only Exception’,” he said softly, barely audible even to his own ears.

He watched Dean's body tense up. Emerald eyes flickered up from where his gaze had shifted to the coffee table, slowly rounding and seeming to drag his head along with him to the left. In seconds, Castiel was once again looking at the face of the man he fell in love with. He smiled nervously, lip tucked underneath his front teeth. Dean's face didn't change, he was still staring right at Castiel with an expression on his features that he could only describe as frightened.

He'd never seen Dean frightened like this before.

Sure, he'd seen Dean scared in the time they'd been together. Dean was scared when Castiel left him for the first time, afraid of being alone. Dean was scared the second time Castiel left him, afraid of losing that control. Dean was scared when Castiel was in his arms, lifeless right in front of him, because he was afraid of what he'd done. But this fear was different. Castiel could almost feel the guilt and remorse radiating off of Dean, it was like a breeze of fresh air, smelling of linens and morning dew.

It was nice.

“I have...I have a few other songs on here too, they're...well, I think they're good. Uh,” he smiled nervously, looking at the computer screen, “I put ‘Can't Help Falling In Love’ but it's the cover by Twenty One Pilots. I put some Ed Sheeran songs on here too, like ‘Thinking Out Loud’ and ‘Castle On The Hill’, that one's mainly because I know you miss Kansas though…”

Castiel looked back up at Dean, who was still watching him intently, as if he was trying to see right through him. Castiel licked his lips and gently reached over, touching Dean's hand. Dean looked down at the action, finally tearing his eyes from Castiel's face. He watched his fingers become intertwined with the other’s, his skin looking darker than Castiel's for once. The boy's tan skin looked paler now, not as pale as he did in Dean's nightmare, but too pale to be normal.

“You're not real,” Dean whispered hoarsely.

Castiel's face dropped slightly, hand squeezing Dean's. His nerves sparked to life with a cold feeling, migrating all the way up his arm and to his shoulder. Dean yanked his arm back, shoving the laptop off of his lap and into the coffee table. He got up, stumbling away from where Castiel sat, leaving the brunette without his touch. The cold feeling left his arm through his fingertips the second they parted.

The last thing he saw of Castiel was the hurt look on his face, then he scrubbed his hands over his face and the boy was gone. Dean sighed, pressing his back against the nearest wall. He ran his hands through his hair, fingers combing the strands out of place. Slapping his hand across his face lightly, he muttered to himself.

“You're losing it.”

…

Castiel stayed hidden from Dean for the next few days. Every time he showed himself, Dean lashed out in fear or anger. He'd never want to cause the man any suffering, but that's what he seemed to be doing. He just wanted to be with Dean again, to make sure the blonde didn't feel so alone, and to fuel his desire to just be close to him again. He'd missed being able to hold Dean's hand and just sit with him. He missed the affection he once was given abundances of.

He still sat with Dean and watched t.v. when the man was home. He still watched over the man as he slept. He still stood as close to him as he could when he had the opportunity. It was okay, because even though Dean couldn't see him, just being with him fueled Castiel's need for love, or at least, the artificial love that Dean had shown him over time. But it didn't matter, because Dean needed him and he was here. He'd always be here for Dean.

He was currently in the kitchen, watching Dean heating up some McDonald's in the microwave from a day or two ago. He cringed slightly, knowing that whatever he was heating up from McDonald's was going to have that distinguished stale taste. Dean walked over and sat down at the table once the chicken nuggets were done, a half eaten large fry beside the box on the table. Castiel watched him with a small smile, fiddling with his fingers.

Dean's phone chimed right as he picked up the first nugget to be victimized by his mouth and he groaned. He pulled it from his pocket and powered the screen on to see a text from Jo. Slowly, he set the nugget down and wiped his fingers on his pant leg, unlocking his phone. Suddenly behind him and still hidden behind the veil of Dean's eyes, he watched the man type. Castiel remembered Jo Harvelle. He didn't very much like Jo Harvelle.

Dean's thick fingers hovered over the keyboard as he thought of what to say. She had texted and asked if Dean wanted to meet up and talk about everything, to see if he was okay after what happened. It wasn't a rude text or a booty call, so he probably shouldn't reply with an attitude. However, he wasn't really up for talking to her or anyone else. He typed and sent a response, then set his phone down on the table.

>>not really up for a date<<

His phone again chimed just a few seconds later and he sighed in slight annoyance. He ignored it this time, silencing his phone when yet another message came in. Castiel listened to what sounded like thunder rolling in his brain, his eardrums vibrating with the sound. The feeling continued until he heard a crack, then it was suddenly silent. He looked over to the right, where his little flower was sitting on the windowsill.

The window behind it was cracked.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled and stood up.

Castiel blinked and he was in the corner on the other side of the kitchen. He flinched when the chair scraped against the floor with Dean's movements. The man walked over to window to inspect the crack, sighing in frustration. He stood there for a moment, hands on the counter to hold himself against it. He looked down at the sink, chuckling bitterly.

“This place is falling apart without ya Cas,” he mumbled.

Dean's voice sounded sad. Castiel could sense the air becoming thicker around Dean's position, radiating to the farthest corners of the apartment. It was like he could physically feel the mood change. He came closer to the hunched over man, hand running up his back slowly. The little blue flower drooped ever so slightly, and Castiel's eyes caught the action. He wondered how it was still alive, Dean hadn't watered it at all.

…

Castiel had never seen Dean so low before.

Dean had only become less and less interested in leaving the house, even to go to work. He'd ended up calling in sick a for few days, drinking himself nearly to death each night. Each night, he hoped that he'd pass out and not wake up. He didn't deserve to wake up. He didn't deserve to walk around and keep using up the world's precious oxygen when Cas was sitting in a pot of ashes beside the t.v. system.

He remembered every time he'd ever raised his voice at Cas, every time he'd silently threatened him with a raised fist. Back then, he'd always seen the boy's flinches as tiny victories, little signs that told him Cas wouldn't dare try to leave him anymore. He'd never seen them for what they really were: fear of being beaten to death embodied. He'd never seen past the flinches, he'd never looked. He should have looked. Why didn't he look?

Thinking about the physical abuse was just the tip of the iceberg though, just the outermost shell of their relationship. The inner shells were much worse, ranging from sexual abuse to mental. Dean had done so much harm to Cas that it shattered the fragile boy like glass. Dean wondered how he could have possibly taken so much of it.

“I'm sorry,” he found himself saying, voice raspy and throat burning.

He was sitting beside the bed on the floor, empty beer bottles around him. His face felt hot and legs felt weak. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, acting as a magnifying glass when they briefly passed over his freckles, enlarging them for a split second before rolling down to his jaw and eventually to the floor. He kicked the beer bottles and listened to them clatter and roll, hitting the wall with a clunking sound.

He was sobbing before he knew it, knees pulled to his chest. He had his face buried in his kneecaps, tears soaking the fabric of his pajama pants. His hands were clenched into fists, deep pants for air leaving his lips. He'd never sobbed like this before, not even when his dad died. Castiel was everything, he needed him like air but, also like air, he didn't deserve him.

In a sudden stroke of thought, Dean lifted his head from his knees. There were pink patches on his cheekbones from the pressure of his knees pressing on them, the imprint of his pajama pants visible. He wiped at his eyes, stumbling as he stood up and made his way towards the closet. He opened it up and listened to the slam it made with the force. Glassy emerald eyes searched the shelves, and seconds later, he pulled down a box.

Why did he get to walk around and keep wasting oxygen when Castiel was gone?

Opening up the top, he pulled out the nice little pistol, shiny from constant use and cleaning. He dropped the box once he pulled out the little pack of bullets, backing up until the back of his calves hit the bed. He sat down and pushed the bullets into the chamber, rolling it and slamming it in with the heel of his palm. With a flick of his thumb, the safety was clicked off and he was pressing the cold metal to his temple.

He'd never thought of suicide before. He'd never had a reason to. Conditions with his family were never bad enough to even consider it, not even when he and Sam would have to go weeks without seeing John. He'd never felt so low in his life to think up the idea of ending it, not until now. He was alone. He didn't want Jo or anyone else, he wanted Cas, his Cas. But he fucked all that up and now he didn't have the only person that really ever wanted him.

That's all Castiel wanted in return too: love. He didn't want to be pushed away or hit or pushed to suicide.

His finger curled around the trigger and he took a deep breath, but before he could press it, something cold - even colder than the metal - shot up his arm. The hand that held the gun suddenly felt numb and he dropped the heavy object to the bed, which bounced off of the mattress and hit the floor. Miraculously, it didn't go off. Dean opened his eyes and there he was. Castiel was right there, eyes wide and frantic with fear. He climbed into Dean's lap, immediately winding his arms around the other man's neck and shoulders to hold him tight.

Suddenly the cold seemed like it wasn't present, like as a whole it didn't have the same effect as it did when it was just one frail touch. Dean was squeezing the thinner boy back within seconds, not caring if it was real or not. Let it be one of his drunken hallucinations, because it was still Cas, in some way, in some universe. He buried his face in Castiel's neck, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the back of the boy's shirt. Finally relieved that Dean wasn't throwing things in disbelief or stumbling away from him, he smiled and huffed out a breath as Dean squeezed him.

They held each other like that for a while, but as long as it was just didn't seem like enough. Castiel was so starved for a gentle touch that he could have stayed like that until the sun came up. But sometime during the night, they did break apart. Dean didn't let him go though, he held Castiel's shoulders, squeezing every so often just to make sure he was real and not a figment of his imagination. Dean spent what seemed like hours, days to Castiel, just staring into pools of what used to be a vibrant blue. They seemed more grey than anything now.

“I love you,” Dean whispered brokenly, voice scratching against his throat as he spoke.

Castiel tilted his head, chapped lips stretching into a small smile.

“I never said that enough, but I love you. I love you. I never…” he took a deep breath, “I never treated you right.”

Castiel intertwined their fingers, feeling an oddly thick sensation flowing through his fingertips as he did so. Dean's entire mood just felt so thick, like maple syrup pouring on a plate of pancakes. Meanwhile, Castiel's just felt like air, like fog on a dewy morning.

“You deserved b-better than that, so much better. I-I don't…”

Castiel looked back up at his lover's face, sighing. A cold breath of air fanned over Dean's face, the tip of his nose getting the worst of it. It felt like he'd been out in the cold autumn wind.

“Why?”

Dean looked at Castiel with a look of confusion on his face, thick, light brown eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Wh-why what?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Castiel clarified, thumb rubbing over Dean's knuckles, the same knuckles that had often left bruises on Castiel in the shapes of carpals.

Dean deflated, mouth going dry.

“I didn't hate you,” he whispered, “I never...I didn't hate you. I just...I d-didn't want you to leave me.”

Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's, closing his eyes. This was what he'd wanted for the longest time, just the opportunity to be this close to Dean, both giving and receiving affection. Dean's arms were gentle around him, but firm enough for him to tell that he wasn't going to let go anytime soon, as if Castiel wanted him to. It was nice to finally feel loved, really loved.

“If I could, I'd bring you back. I'd treat you right, like a Goddamn prince,” Dean sobbed, swaying side to side ever so slightly. “I'd make you breakfast every morning, tell you I love you everyday, never hurt you again. I'd love you right, I'd let you play that song you like so much in the car, the one from that game with the lesbians wh-where one rewinds time, you know? Th-that song about uh, Santa Monica or whatever.”

Castiel smiled softly as Dean spoke, but it disappeared as soon as it showed up.

“You can't-” he started faintly, playing with the tag on the back of Dean's shirt.

Dean's body shook with an intake of air, arms tightening around Castiel.

“I know,” the blond interrupted in a feeble whine.

…

Dean wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, or how he'd even allowed himself to when Cas was there and he had the chance to spend all night with him. Light peeked through the closed curtains on the room and Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His head was pounding, black dots clouding his vision but slowly scattering so he was able to see. He stood from the bed, running both hands through his messy - and slightly greasy - hair.

He made his way out of the bedroom, yawning loudly and stretching his arms above his head. The hallway smelled like pancakes, and faintly like chocolate chips. That could only mean chocolate chip pancakes, which had Dean's mouth watering. The first thing that came to his mind was how many he could eat in one sitting in his hungover state. The second thing that came to his mind was who the Hell was making pancakes.

Upon entering the kitchen, he saw a lithe boy standing in front of the stove, a black apron tied around his waist. A stack of at least four or five pancakes was on the table, next to a bottle of syrup only half full. Castiel turned, flinching when he saw Dean standing there, as if just noticing the man was enough to frighten him. Dean's arms dropped to his sides and he watched Castiel set another pancake onto the plate.

“Hello Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others but the next one will be normal length, and after that, there might be a very short epilogue, depending on how I'm feeling when I write the ending.

Castiel turned back to face the stove, arm moving back and forth as he loosened the grip that the stove had on the pancake. Dean watched in awe, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. His hair was unruly, he hadn't gotten it cut in a while so it was long enough to be sticking up in almost every direction possible. Castiel slid the last pancake off of the spatula and onto the plate with the others, then turned the knob until it clicked off. The fire subsided and Castiel set the dishes in the sink, turning on the faucet.

Dean hadn't moved, eyes trained on the lithe boy by the sink. The contrast of the vibrant blue flower alongside his ebony locks of hair caught Dean's eye. The flower was in full bloom, standing upright with its petals curled back, facing the sun. Castiel glanced at the little flower and smiled, moving it closer to the window so it could be enveloped in the warm rays. He turned and dried the pan with a cloth, gesturing to the seat with a plate and glass set up in front of it.

Dean's feet carried him to the spot and he plopped down into it, tearing his eyes away from the brunette finally. Castiel put the, now clean, dishes away and grabbed the spatula, carefully placing three thick, round pancakes on the man's plate. The syrup bottle was next to the plate, already popped open and ready for use. Opening the fridge carefully, Castiel pulled out a gallon of milk and filled Dean's glass to the brim. Dean watched numbly, eyes following the boy's every move, as if he was watching him die all over again.

“You...you used t...to hum,” he said, shocked by how timid his own voice sounded.

Castiel's chapped lips stretched into a smile and he turned to put away the milk, beginning humming a tune softly. The lyrics flowed through his mind like a quiet river, calm and leisurely. Dean recognized the song immediately, it was the one he had listened to on Castiel's phone, the one by John Lennon. This had to have been Castiel's favorite song. It was fitting.

Castiel sat down across from the man, sitting up straight in the wooden chair. His eyes were locked on Dean's, glancing down at the plate once as if to encourage him to eat. Dean looked down at the food, grabbing his fork and using it to cut apart the fluffy pancake. He ate a few bites before pouring the syrup over the rest, a bit of it dripping onto the table when he went to set it back down. He took a drink of the milk next, and it was the 1% that Castiel insisted was better. He didn't seem to mind this time though, in fact, he'd drink gallons of it if it meant making the other happy.

Castiel was still humming, and it's what made Dean keep eating. The gentle humming combined with food was the perfect comfort to his nerves, and Cas? Well that was just gravy on top. After a few seconds, the glass was empty and Castiel stood up to fill it again, he humming subsiding. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and as he was making his way back over to the table, which was only about four steps away, he paused, hand shaking. Dean caught the movement and stood up, concerned.

The glass shattered on the floor and the milk formed a puddle that soaked Dean's bare feet, and even the bottoms of his pajama pants. He jumped slightly at the clattering, concern evident in his eyes. He looked at the expression on the boy's face, one of utter terror. He looked like Dean had threatened to kill everything he loved, tears escaping his eyes and falling down his cheeks. Blue irises met green ones and Dean stepped around the glass, gently touching Castiel's shoulders.

“I can't remember the words,” Castiel whispered, voice filled with trembling fright.

…

Turns out, Castiel didn't remember a lot of things. He didn't remember their trip to Lawrence about a year ago, where Castiel got to ride a horse for the first time. He didn't remember where he and Dean first met. He didn't even remember his phone password. Dean had sat Cas down on the couch and cleaned up the milk and glass, setting a towel on the tiled floor. He closed the fridge on the way over to Castiel, kneeling in front of where the boy sat.

He took Castiel's hands gently, looking up at the boy's unfocused eyes, hazy and almost blank. Castiel seemed to snap out of it at Dean's touch, that warm syrupy feeling flowing through his veins again. Dean felt the shocking cold vibrate up his arms, but ignored it, squeezing Castiel's hands. Why didn't Castiel remember these things? Why was he so cold anytime Dean touched him? Why was he so pale?

He knew why, and now was the time to say it out loud.

“You're dead,” he whispered.

Castiel looked down at him, his frown only deepening sadly.

“I know...I don't...I don't want to be,” he whispered, “you finally love me now.”

Dean swallowed a growing lump in his throat, thumbs caressing over the boy's knuckles slowly. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the back of each hand, ignoring the chill it sent down his spine.

“I've always loved you, Cas. Always.”

The pale boy looked unconvinced, and Dean nodded slowly.

“I was gonna propose, did you know that?” he asked softly.

Castiel shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I was gonna. I wanted to wait until we had a good day,” he mentally chastised himself, “until _I_ had a good day. You were...you were always good.”

His boyfriend sniffled softly and Dean reached up, gently wiping the tears from his smooth cheeks.

“I'm gonna...I'm gonna find out what's going on, okay? I promise.”

…

Castiel wanted to feel loved that night, and he wanted to feel warm. Dean wanted to fulfill those wants, he wanted to treat his boy like how he deserved to be treated. So? They made love that night.

It wasn't rough or fast or hard. Castiel was facing Dean the entire time, like how he liked. The first time, the blond was on top of his lover, the boy's legs wrapped around his waist. They used the blankets, draped over the both of them. Castiel was cold and Dean wanted to warm him up as much as he possibly could. It was slow, gentle reassurances and kisses exchanged. Castiel came before the other, as always. Castiel was always so sensitive.

The second time was just a few minutes later. They were laying on their backs underneath the covers, Dean covered in sweat and panting. Castiel was watching Dean, inquisitive blue orbs calm behind his long eyelashes. Dean was just starting to get his breathing back to normal when Cas crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. It wasn't a position they were used to, which is what made Dean come first that time. Just the slow roll of Castiel's hips had Dean groaning, hands on a pale set of thighs, gripping. Castiel chewed on his lip as he moved, Dean's cock rubbing against just the right spot.

Castiel's orgasms were like a wave crashing against rocks on a cold night in Malibu. Dean's orgasms were like thick honey dripping from a staff.

They spent most of that night in each other's arms, Dean clinging to Castiel like he could disappear at any second, which he could. He didn't. He lied there and let Dean squeeze him in a warm, constricting hug. Dean cried, whispering a proclamation of love over and over again. Castiel listened to each soft whisper, eyes closed but mind awake and empty. Dean loved him.

Dean really did love him.

...

Jo Harvell stopped by the next day. Castiel was sitting with Dean on the couch, watching a show that they had both been fond of. Dean's arm was slung around his shoulders, Castiel's body leaned against Dean's. His head was tucked against the blond’s neck, breathing in his scent and never getting tired of it. He felt warmer than usual, but the cold, dewey feeling was still there, ever-present in his veins.

It got worse when there was a knock at the door.

Dean glanced at Castiel, figuring the boy would disappear once he opened it, concealing himself within whatever viel separates the two universes. He kissed his lover's head before standing up and walking over to the door, pulling his pants up. He opened the door and Castiel's veins turned to literal ice. He couldn't move, not even to turn his head to see who was there. He knew.

“Hey,” Jo said quietly.

Dean sighed in annoyance, glancing over at where Cas was still there on the couch, unsure if he was visible only to him or not. Jo stepped inside when Dean was distracted, phone in her hand.

“Dean, I just want to talk. I know….I know you're hurting…” she started, looking at the tv. “Shark Tank, nice.”

“Jo, you need to leave,” Dean said, rubbing his hand over his forehead.

He glanced at where Cas sat, unmoving.

“No, okay, listen-” she started.

The tv shut off unexpectedly and when Dean glanced at it, Castiel was gone. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly. He felt something almost magnetic pulling his head to look at the flower on the windowsill. A single petal dropped into the little white pot, the stem drooping.

“Y-you can't just...hole yourself up in here forever,” she explained. “Castiel is dead, I'm sorry but there's...there's no fixing that.”

Dean's eyes snapped focus from the plant to Jo’s face, bushy, blond brows furrowing.

“Get out of here.”

Castiel couldn't know about what he and Jo had been doing behind his back. Jo was just a mistake. He didn't even know what he was thinking when he first had the idea to get involved with her. Castiel was more than enough, Castiel was everything to him.

“Dean-” she started.

Just as her plump, glossed lips opened the finish the thought, the window pane behind the small blue flower shattered to pieces. The last time it had drawn attention to itself, it was when Dean received the text from Jo days ago. It had been a decent sized crack, spanning from the hatch lock to the middle of it, a crooked break that proposed no immediate danger. Now, the wind whistled as it blew through the paneless window frame. Dean watched the breeze blow a feather-light blue petal into the sink.

“Get out,” he said again, quieter this time.

Jo had jumped at the ear-piercing sound, quickly heading for the door without having to be told a third time. She slammed the door behind her, hurrying down the hall and pressing the elevator button frantically. Dean watched her leave, locking the door with a click. He felt a chill run up his spine and turned to look at the flower again. Castiel stood there, dark circles underneath his eyes. The bright blue rings in his eyes looked icy with the dark contrast.

He had a look of sadness on his face, his left eye twitching every so often. His hands looked pale, almost a light blue to match his eyes. The boy's head was tilted downwards slightly, looking at Dean from under his eyes lashes from where He stood across the room. It was like Dean was looking at a character straight from a horror movie, one that was about to kill the main character, or him.

“I know,” Castiel said, his voice so hushed that Dean had to take a few steps forward to hear him clearly.

“Ab-about…”

The boy nodded, glancing at the door briefly, then right back at Dean. The emerald eyed man could feel a spreading cold sensation in his chest, festering in his lungs and making his body shudder. Tension was thicker than oxygen in the room, and once Dean blinked, Castiel was gone.

He didn't see Cas the rest of the night. It was a lonely night, but Dean didn't dare drink. He needed to be sober for when Castiel came back, if he did come back. He went to sleep alone, clutching Castiel's pillow close. Castiel watched over Dean during the night, making sure no harm came to him physically or mentally, in his dreams. The next morning, Dean woke up and was greeted with the same stack of pancakes, the same glass of milk, and the same bottle of syrup sitting too close to the edge of the table. The broken glass was still gathered in the dust pan, so he knew that yesterday definitely happened.

“Pancakes again, huh?” he chuckled. “I don't mind, yours are the best.”

Castiel turned to look at Dean over his shoulder, the dark circles underneath his eyes gone now. His irises were oceanic blue again, lips stretched into a soft smile. He set the plate down on the table before starting to wash the dishes. Dean looked over to see that the window was still shattered, the pieces of glass swept up and mixed with the shards already residing in the dust pan. Castiel dried the dishes and put them away, then took the seat across from Dean.

“Can't believe there's any batter left after how many you made yesterday,” Dean said, glad that _his_ Cas, or at least as much of him as he could get, was back.

But he frowned slightly when the boy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I didn't make pancakes yesterday...did I?”

  
Castiel remembered no such thing. He also didn't remember why the window was broken, or what tv show they had been watching.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!
> 
> I tried to make the ending as easy to understand as possible, but if you're having trouble, I'll answer any questions you have.
> 
> (The song referenced is Perfect by Ed Sheeran, I recommend putting it on and listening to it on loop as you read.)

Dean didn't like research.

Growing up, he always depended on Sam to find out how to get his thumb unstuck from the bathroom faucet or how to fix a broken coffee maker.

But this was important, and no one would believe him if he told them that he was researching how to get rid of the ghost of his former lover. It even sounded crazy to him, but he had to do it. It had been a week of having pancakes every morning and as much as Dean loved seeing Cas again, not only was he getting tired of buying pancake mix every two days - because he didn't have the heart to tell Cas his mind was rotting - but he was tired of seeing Cas forget over and over again. It only progressed since then. Dean didn't know how or why Cas had managed to come back, but it was doing some serious damage to his memory.

Castiel even forgot his own brother's name for a moment when Dean brought him up. After being reminded, he remembered Gabriel, but only vaguely. It was heart-wrenching to see Castiel forget everything, everything except Dean. He remembered Dean every morning and remembered to give him exactly three pancakes every morning. Dean hated it, he bated being the one thing that Castiel remembered from his short life. Was it because he just loved Dean that much? Or was it because the fear of Dean had been so deeply engraved into his mind that it was all that would be left in the end?

How would the end be, exactly?

When everything else was gone from Castiel's mind and Dean was all that was left, what would their days consist of? Dean didn't want to think about it. He wanted to help Cas, he wanted to help regain some of what he was forgetting or at least cease the memory lapse altogether.

But then he got to thinking.

Castiel was the kind of person to get into heaven, easy. God would bat his eyelashes and open those pearly white gates for Castiel because he deserved it. He deserved to be happy, he deserved to be at peace. Dean was being selfish, keeping him here, even if it was Castiel's choice to stay. It wasn't anymore. Castiel didn't deserve to have his brain for from the inside out here on this hell-hole, trapped with the man that drove him to suicide in the first place.

 _Let the spirit move on,_ the website said.

He knew that mediums were full of shit, at least, he used to before Castiel came back around. But some divorced, middle-aged medium online named Debora was all he had at the moment. He had to let Castiel move on, but how would he do that when Cas clung to him like a steel trap. And if he did succeed and Cas got his wings and entered the Blessed Country Club, he'd have no one. He decided that was okay. He decided that Cas mattered more to him. Cas deserved happiness, peace, love.

…

 

“I don't want to leave.” 

Dean looked down at the table, clutching Castiel's pale hand tightly. It was shockingly cold,  fingertips damn near hypothermic. He was surprised they hadn't fallen off yet.

“You deserve...you deserve heaven,” Dean muttered, swallowing and looking up.

Castiel looked saddened, offended, and Dean could see the icy blue settling into the irises of his eyes.

“Remember that day you saw that bird on the sidewalk and you brought him home? You fixed up his broken wing, you even sang to him-” Dean said within a sad chuckle.

“Blackbird, by The Beatles.”

“Yeah, and then you set him free after he was all healed. That's what's gonna get you into heaven Cas.”

Castiel looked like the most adoptable puppy in the shelter, staring at Dean with drooping eyes.

“I don't want to. I want to stay here, with you.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“You've been making me pancakes every morning for nine days now, I haven't told you because...because you're...you're brain is fucking _rotting_ , Cas. It's rotting and you can't remember anything but me and - fuck! I'm a piece of shit!”

Castiel flinched, and Dena mentally cursed himself. He wasn't trying to scare Cas, he just wanted him up there and happy and thriving.

“You don't….you don't want me anymore...is that it?” Castiel asked timidly, voice mousey and frightened.

Deans head shot up and he shook it quickly, standing up and pulling the boy into his arms, squeezing him until he had no room to breathe, not that he needed to anyways.

“I love you. I fucked up, I didnt...I didnt treat you right when you were...still kickin’...but you don't deserve to pay for that. I know that...that you don't like for getting everything.” 

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

“I don't know why I'm the only thing you always remember, but I hate it. I hate seeing you forget your family, your favorite things. I fucked up the first time around a-and now I'm fucking up all over again."

Castiel hugged Dean tightly.

“I don't want to keep...ruining you. I'm...I'm poison,” the blond whispered hoarsely.

“No,” Castiel whimpered, digging his nails into Dean's back desperately.

Dean pulled away at the icy pinpricks and cupped the boy's cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over Castiel's tear-stained cheekbones gently.

“Please, do this for me, and for you, please? I'll be okay, I promise. I can...I can handle being alone. You're okay, just...go.”

The air in the room was thin and cold and Dean could see his breath, he kissed Castiel's forehead gently. He kept whispering soft praises and assurances to the other boy, sighing softly. After all they'd been through together, to have it come to an end because Dean had finally morphed into a good person was surreal. A few months ago, he was obsessed with having control over Cas and he never would have let him leave, but driving the love of your life to suicide must be a big factor in changing people.

Maybe Dean would have a chance at meeting Cas up in heaven someday. Probably not.

A few months ago, he probably wouldn't have believed in a heaven. He wouldn't have believed in ghosts or phantoms or spirits or whatever Castiel technically was, but having the brunette in his arms was certainly undeniable.

“Please just go, please? For me? I promise, you'll remember the words to that song you like, you'll remember Gabriel, you'll remember me, you'll be happy. I want you to be happy. I wanna do something right for once.”

Castiel must have gotten tired of Dean's rambling because the sudden absence of cold struck him like a truck. He stammered back a little, alone in the now significantly warmer apartment. It hadn't been this warm in a month or so, Dean almost felt like he was suffocating. But how could he suffocate in a room alone? He sighed and closed his eyes.

…

Dean felt like he was going crazy.

The next few days were hell. The apartment was colder than ever, surely freezing him to death slowly and painfully. He wasn’t sure how it could get _colder_ with Castiel being gone, since the brunette had carried the sensation with him like a fog that completely enraptured Dean, oddly enough. He found himself missing that shockingly cold feeling shooting up his arm and filling his veins with what felt like ice, he missed being oh so gently paralyzed with that feeling. He missed feeling Castiel, warm or cold, though he strangely preferred the cold, since he couldn’t hurt Castiel if he was dead.

There was the positive side, however. If the apartment was still cold, then Castiel must still be there. And he was, he watched over Dean as he slept each night. His mind had figurative holes, rotting away from the core as each memory disintegrated into nothing, twirling and twisting invisibly into what Dean urged him to escape to, into his Heaven. But for now, it seemed like each memory was just disappeared, and there was nothing he could do about it. After the fifth day of staying hidden in that apartment, the only thing he could remember was that he was dead. He no longer knew why he was watching this man sleep, or who he was. It was something of a miracle that all of the fear that Dean had drilled into his brain, all of the terror that kept him compliant, had finally left him alone, it had finally given him peace.

Still, he knew that _something_ was keeping him here. Something about this man with light, peach colored cheeks and freckles littering so much of his toned body, made him stay here in this little building and watch over him. He knew this man was important. The blue petaled flower on the windowsill was near death, one vibrant blue petal clinging on for dear life. The once-shattered window had been replaced with double paned glass that did a decent job at keeping the outside elements at bay. Though, with Castiel here, it was colder inside the pathetic little home than it was outside.

A sound coming from the couch in the living room tore Castiel's eyes away from the little flower.

“I made this on my laptop. Hey, here’s to the real heroes, online music pirates.”

Castiel tilted his head as the freckled man popped a small tape into a player, the circles spinning slowly until they found a decent speed. The sound was grainy at first, but it adjusted to the media being played and the words came out clearly. A small piece of paper was taped to the player that had the word ‘Cas; written on it. Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, stalking closer and looking down at the small device.

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms_

_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_

_When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath_

_But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight_

Castiel glanced at the man sitting on the couch, green eyes darting around the room slowly. He shivered and turned his head to face the device, where the cold was emanating from. It was a slow pour at first, a warm, thick feeling that originated in Castiel’s chest. It felt like a warm syrup that spread through his lungs until the room brightened from its dull, grey feeling. The imaginary fog felt like it lifted and seeped into the ceiling, sunshine setting its focus on Dean. Images of the green-eyed man flashed through Castiel’s mind, transitioning slowly into one another like a slideshow, with the perfect soundtrack to accompany it.

Dean looked around the room, a glare catching his attention on the tv from the sun. He stood up slowly, slowly turning around and looking at all corners of the room. Castiel looked down at his hands, still faded images of pearly white smiles and a brown leather jacket blessing his eyes. A warm, tan color ran up his arms, carrying with it that thick syrup that had Castiel feeling like he could just reach out and touch....

Dean jumped at the sudden heavy hand on his back, turning to face the raven haired boy there. Castiel looked tan, his hair wonderfully messy and his eyes clearer than the Pacific ocean or a spiritual cleansing in the woods. Dean huffed out a disbelieving chuckle, taking a careful step forward, afraid that the boy was a mirage. He was proven wrong when he wrapped his arms around the other and squeezed him like he was a kid with the plushest teddy bear in the world. He sobbed, burying his face in Castiel’s neck. Thankfully, it was reciprocated and it was the last thing Dean felt before he woke up the next morning to a ray of sunshine warming his bed and the smell of fresh coffee in the air.

He got up and was both relieved and saddened to see that Castiel wasn’t there.

The little blue flower was in full bloom when he first walked out and saw it, each petal replaced in its rightful spot. He poured his cup of coffee and opened the window, some force pulling the air in the room with it as he did so and stripping the flower from its pot. The stem fell down two stories to the ground and the petals floated in the air for a few seconds before meeting the same fate. Dean panicked slightly, wondering if he had just accidentally fucked up Castiel’s life once again, or rather, his afterlife. After a few hours turned into days, then weeks, then months, then years, he decided that Castiel was fine. It got easier after a while.

… 

Castiel woke up to a warm bed, white sheets gracing his naked body with coverage and modesty each morning. The sun was warm and the smell of leather and linen filled his nostrils, blessing him almost as much as _their_ Dean did. _Their_ Dean woke him up with gentle kisses each morning and a cup of hot tea, sometimes coffee if he woke up craving it. _Their_ Dean always knew just what he wanted, when he wanted. _Their_ Dean grinned and greeted him the same way each day, with a forehead kiss and a “Mornin’ Angel”. It was nice, but it wasn’t Dean.

Until one day, it was.

He woke up and _their_ Dean was nowhere to be found. He crawled out of bed and pulled on one of _their_ Dean’s shirts, walking out of the bed. There was no coffee, no scent. He panicked, wondering if he had done something to strip him of his heaven. He searched the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows when a song began playing from some omniscient speaker in the small apartment modeled after the one he had before. He glanced at the door a few feet away, watching it open. A man stepped through, brown leather layered on top of green flannel layered on top of a black shirt. Dean stepped through and the second their eyes met, Castiel felt that warm feeling in his chest again.

He walked towards Dean slowly, _his_ Dean. He hugged him tightly, and Dean did the same, the two becoming nearly inseparable once intertwined once again. The song, the one Dean had played for him before he woke up here, played on and Castiel turned his head to rest it on Dean’s broad shoulder. In the mirror, a youthful Castiel was hugging the man in the brown leather jacket and green flannel, the man with the sterling grey hair and crinkles around his eyes, tears coating his aged cheeks. He was as beautiful as ever and Castiel looked at his own image again in the mirror. After a few seconds, he squeezed his eyes shut and sniffled.

It seemed like just yesterday, he stood in this same position with Dean. How long had it been really?


End file.
